


Too Much

by Jalules



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Feelings, Flirting, Friendship, Innuendo, let's talk about the window incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m gonna level with you here, Patty,” Holtzmann says, very seriously, and that’s more than enough to put Patty on guard. A serious Holtzmann is some serious business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> I got a sunburn writing this. It was worth it.

.

.

“Careful you don’t ruin your ensemble there, Patty.”

Patty scoffs and hefts the substantial toolkit she’s carrying from hip to arms, redistributing the weight, and says, “It’s real cute you’re worried about me Holtz, but I’d be more concerned about your overalls fallin’ off.”

They’re hanging by one threadbare strap, for god’s sake, and gravity never calls in sick.

Holtzmann chuckles darkly, mock-threatening, and Patty politely ignores her.

They’re still moving into the new building, setting up sensitive equipment, and there are some things that, frankly, no one trusts Kevin to carry. Basically all of Holtzmann’s stuff, for example. Most of it falls into the categories of flammable, breakable, illegal, or all three, and she’s insisted on moving it in herself for everyone’s safety and for the wellbeing of her precious machinery.

Patty is giving her a hand because, hey, she’s helpful like that. Besides, she hardly had anything of her own to bring in, just the plush desk chair she’d chosen and a handy little bookshelf to hold her between-busting reading, and she’s got that set up in a cozy arrangement already.

“I’m just saying, nobody wants a skirt full of grease and ectoplasm,” Holtzmann comments as she heaves a box packed with wicked looking screws onto the nearest counter, “Well- maybe not nobody.”

Patty laughs her off, shoving the dusty toolkit in her arms onto the counter as well. She brushes off the film it leaves behind, saying, “Holtz, I have done things in this skirt that’d make Bear Grylls tap out, and that’s before I ever touched one of your ghost hunting death traps.”

“Do tell,” Holtmann purrs, looking legitimately intrigued, but a wobbling antennae on top of the machine beside the countertop catches her attention before she can press for further details.

Patty watches her grab the quivering antennae between her fingertips, holding it still and releasing it again as delicately as if she were touching the wing of a butterfly.

“Behave,” Holtzmann tells the machine warningly, and Patty can’t keep from smiling.

So far all of Holtzmann’s stuff fits with room to spare. She doesn’t have everything quite where she wants it yet, and every time she re-enters the room she nudges something two inches to the left, announcing it to be, “Feng shui.”

And that’s all well and good, but Patty can’t help but notice the junk quite literally piled in front of the largest set of windows. The glass is framed on either side by carts loaded up with half-finished and partly dismantled experimental projects, and there’s a massive desk pushed right up against the window pane, it’s surface stacked with books. It looks a hell of a lot like a purposefully constructed barrier, and Patty’s got all kinds of iffy feelings about that.

“There a reason you’re blocking half the sunlight from coming in the room?” She asks, gesturing to the mass of furniture and supplies, “I swear if you say you’re a vampire now I’m not gonna be held responsible for any staking.”

“Ehh,” Holtzmann wiggles a hand at her, a flip-flopping motion that means almost nothing, “I’m not out for blood. Just have some light sensitive work, is all.”

“Mhm,” Patty says, unconvinced. She steps up as close to the window as she can get with all of Holtzmann’s stuff in the way and peers down to the street below. It isn’t that high up, and Patty’s been living in multistory buildings her whole life, but she still gets a dizzying little flood of nerves when she looks toward the ground. 

Window guards are a thing in apartments, not so much in firehouses. Or Chinese food restaurants. And either way, a window guard isn’t exactly going to stop a ghost that wants you  _ out _ that window.

“You still bugged out about the window incidents?” She asks, and it’s ridiculous that it’s the plural, that she’s seen two people thrown out windows recently, the same window in fact, and one of them did  _ not _ fare well and the other is Holtzmann, who she personally assisted in the art of not falling to her death, “ ‘Cause I tell you what, I’m still nervy as hell.”

Holtzmann looks between Patty and the pile of junk, Patty, then the pile of junk. She throws her head back to sigh exaggeratedly and steps closer to the window, as if to prove she isn’t afraid of it. She’s still out of arm's reach though, and there’s still a wall of literature and solid wood between her and the glass.

“I’m gonna level with you here, Patty,” Holtzmann says, very seriously, and that’s more than enough to put Patty on guard. A serious Holtzmann is some  _ serious _ business, “Back at the old office? With the whole...possession and assault and being dangled out a window thing? When you saved me from Rowan-as-Abby, who will henceforth be referred to as Rabby?”

She pauses, very clearly waiting for affirmation, so Patty says, “I’m familiar. Not feelin’ the name mashup, but go on.”

Holtzmann nods sharply, “That was,” She says, punctuating the breaks between words with quick little gestures, ticking the phrasing off an invisible list, “The most terrified I have ever been.”

“Aw, Holtzy,” Patty begins to say, ready to reach out and pat her arm reassuringly, but Holtzmann pokes the air more viciously, not done yet.

“Also the most turned on.”

Oh boy.

“Also, also, the most  _ touched _ .” Holtzmann finishes, bringing her thumb and forefinger together to underline the statement. She stares up at Patty, wide eyed, through her goggles.

“That’s,” Patty says, and hesitates, thinks  _ alliterative _ , thinks  _ not what I was expecting _ , says, “A lot.”

“Too much?” Holtzmann asks, flattening her tone, but she grins lopsidedly, as if she isn’t too concerned about the answer. She settles in for it like someone who’s used to being ‘too much’ for people, standing loose and casual to soften the impact of a rejection and more easily segue into the next even stranger thing, all jazz hands and waggling eyebrows and  _ good I’m glad you’re scared of weird, queer little me, that’s obviously what I wanted all along _ .

In a way, Patty can relate. She’s been treated like she’s too much her whole life; too friendly, too loud, too big, too black, too flashy-

Too much for some people, but she’s never really minded that. She doesn’t shrug off a lack of acceptance but shoulders it, smiles that much brighter, laughs that much louder. She puts electric colors in her hair and wears earrings that jingle when she moves and keeps her name on a chain around her neck so everybody knows who she is, remembers who they’re dealing with.

She gets where Holtzmann is coming from, and the aggressively flirtatious mad scientist routine doesn’t put her off in the least. She just never gave it serious consideration before. Coping mechanisms, right? When people give you shit you gotta power through it using whatever you’ve got, whether that means killing them with kindness or freaking them the hell out.

“Nah,” Patty assures her, “Just a lot. Maybe break it down for me?”

“What, like, in stages?” Holtzmann asks, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead, “Because it pretty much all hit me at once. I’m talkin’ simultaneous horrorousal and heartstring tugging.”

“Yeah, see, baby, that really doesn’t clarify anything.”

It’s hard to tell if Holtzmann is squirming in embarrassment or just shifting around because she rarely stops moving. Either way she’s quite literally shaking the criticism off, the motion vibrating her words when she grits out, “You make me feel  _ things _ .”

“Things,” Patty repeats, and oddly enough that is a little more clear, “You mean all the time, or just when I’m haulin’ your ass back from the brink of death?”

And, okay, Holtzmann definitely just shivered and Patty’s pretty damn sure it’s not because there’s a draft sneaking up the back of her crop top.

“Ugh,” Holtzmann groans like an overwrought sitcom teenager, shoulders slumping, “All the time things. But the hauling doesn’t hurt matters. Nor,” She continues, pointing an accusatory finger in Patty’s direction, “Might I add, does you calling me baby.”

And, yeah, okay, that’s definitely more clear. Not crystal, but at least she can work with it.

“Alright. I’m gettin’ some mixed signals here,” Patty says, sort of teasing, sort of honestly uncertain, “You into gettin’ thrown around, or treated real sweet?”

Holtzmann stares her down, running her tongue over her teeth once, twice, considering, “Both,” She says finally, quieter than Patty expects from her, “If you want the full list I’ve got it saved in a Google Doc for easy editing and sharing. Heads up though, it is  _ extensive _ .”

“Damn, girl,” Patty laughs, but she can’t say she’s surprised. This is Holtz, after all, “Does that offer come with access to your calendar to set up a date?”

“I’m free from now until,” Holtzmann squints, mouthing numbers like she’s doing mental calculations, “Literally the end of time. Zero social obligations.”

“Okay first off, you’re a damn liar,” Patty tells her, pointing an accusatory finger of her own, “I heard you on the phone earlier settin’ up a shady as hell appointment to pick up some garbage at Chelsea Pier this Thursday.”

“Ah!” Holtzmann cries, and slaps a palm to her forehead as if she might have actually forgotten, “The carpet tacks,” Which raises a whole bunch of questions, “More business than social but, eh, let’s not split hairs,” She beams at Patty, almost hopeful, “Any day till the end of time  _ excluding _ Thursday, then.”

“Second,” Patty continues, because she’s not touching the issue of an underground carpet tack trade with a ten foot pole, “And this is a no pressure, non-judgemental question-”

“Fire away.”

“Are we talking dinner and a movie, or just hookin’ up on top of Kevin’s desk after hours?”

Holtzmann’s laugh is nearly a cackle, “Oh my god we totally should,” She says in an excited hush, and for a moment Patty wonders if she caught the ‘after hours’ stipulation, because she’s looking over her shoulder like she might take off toward the front desk at any second, regardless of whether or not Kevin is there.

Which, Patty supposes, could answer her question. But when Holtzmann turns around she looks less eager, more contemplative. She’s got this funny little smile on, like she isn’t sure if she got the joke yet. She asks, “You’d seriously go to dinner with me?”

Patty rolls her eyes. Honestly? How old are they? Between Holtzmann’s flirty bullshit and Abby and Erin gossiping about government workers, sometimes it feels like Patty’s stepped back into high school, “Holtz,” She says flatly, “How many times have we eaten together now?”

“But one on one, I mean,” Holtzmann argues, “A premeditated dining experience.”

“Yeah, a  _ date _ ,” Patty agrees, “The thing you do when you wanna spend time with somebody you like.”

Holtzmann narrows her eyes, definitely suspicious, and says, “Huh. You would willingly go on a date with me.”

“As long as you promise not to wear your damn clown shoes, yeah.”

Holtzmann still looks like she’s waiting for the punchline, and Patty wonders how many women she’s bizarrely flirted with/given grief/mimed inappropriate things at, how many of them responded well, or at all.

“What about my giant polka dotted pants?” She asks finally in a conspiratorial whisper.

Patty shakes her head, though she can’t quite bring herself to regret how this is going, “Baby, you could wear whatever you want so long as it’s legal in this city and doesn’t make a godawful squeaking noise when you walk, I do not care.”

She thinks to add that it’s technically legal for anyone to be topless in Manhattan so long as they leave their house that way rather than removing a shirt after the fact, but Holtzmann is probably already aware of that, and if she isn’t, Patty isn’t about to be the one to bring that option to the table.

“You’re on,” Holtzmann says, “Got any plans tonight?”

Patty thinks on that for a second, long enough to take stock of the book on industrial workplace safety in the wake of the Triangle Shirtwaist fire sitting on her nightstand, and the long bath she keeps meaning to take whenever she’s got a quiet night to herself. Both can wait.

“Nothin’ concrete. No dinner plans yet, anyway.”

“Fancy that,” Holtzmann says, “I’m fresh out of instant ramen and snack size chips, so we’re in the same boat.”

“I worry about you, you know that right?” Patty asks, and it’s all joke except for how it’s not.

Holtzmann shrugs, says, “The feeling is mutual,” Which is kind of sweet. Holtzmann really is kind of sweet underneath it all, “So, tonight, when we get outta here…?”

“It’s a date,” Patty assures her, and matches Holtzmann’s victorious grin with her own, “And Holtzy?”

“Hm?”

“That window thing really was terrifying. Probably scarier than any of this other ghost stuff that’s happened. If you wanna keep a desk in front of the window, you go for it,” She pats the corner of the desk gently, watches the stacked books on top of it wobble dangerously, “Maybe just get a bookshelf too though? ‘Cause this is lookin’ borderline Hoarders and I’m pretty sure it’s a fire hazard.”

“Less likely than a nuclear meltdown up here,” Holtzmann offers, “But, good point. How do you feel about dumpster diving for furniture on the first date?”

“Oh, now you’re just askin’ for all kinds of U-Haul lesbian jokes.”

Holtzmann’s laughter rings off the high ceiling, loud, and when it catches Patty up too, contagious, it’s just the right amount of too much.

.

.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Too Much](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513344) by [forzandopod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forzandopod/pseuds/forzandopod), [Jalules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules)




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